


Snow in July

by apolesen



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Amnesia, F/M, M/M, Memories, Reverse Big Bang, Telepathy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-13
Updated: 2012-07-13
Packaged: 2017-11-09 21:24:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/458605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apolesen/pseuds/apolesen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With no recollection of why he has ordered the Brotherhood to go deep into Russia during the winter months, Magneto is considered insane by his followers, but the unexplained presence of Charles Xavier leads Erik to think that there is something more than madness to his amnesia and to the haunting but impossible memory of a kiss in the snow...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The first thing Erik knew was the cold of the helmet, the second, the memory of the snow. His head was throbbing, as if it had received a heavy blow. Cold kisses of snow-flakes were settling on his face. He blinked a few times, and finally his wits caught up with him where he lay on the ground. Labouriously, he pushed himself up and looked around. His vision was still swimming, and what he could discern, he did not recognise. A darkening sky, the trees, a pillar of smoke in the distance. None of it seemed real to him. Only the memory, which kept replaying itself in his mind, did. 

_Half-way there_ (where, he wondered?) _it starts snowing. He does not like the snow, just as he does not like the cold, but to Charles the snow is not associated to badly built houses and gnawing hunger. Instead, it is the childish dream of winter, and when he turns his face towards the sky, he smiles. Erik watches him, and finds that he is smiling too. The smile makes Charles’ eyes light up, and the blue seems to deepen, and as he blushed from the cold, his face becomes ablaze with contrasts. How badly he wants to reach out and touch him..._

The present cold was worse than that in the memory, and the snow fell heavier and thicker. In vain, Erik tried to remember how he got here. His mind felt muddled - perhaps he had been hit across the head and was concussed. It seemed unlikely, though. The helmet should have taken most of the damage. Experimentally, he reached up and traced the shape of it, looking for any dent. The helmet was as perfectly round as it always had been. He expected to feel the chill of the metal, but only the smooth surface registered. Something must be wrong with his hands. When he looked at them, he noticed that the skin looked blistered, and moving his fingers was difficult. His toes, he realised when he got to his feet, felt equally numb. 

Muttering a curse, he wrapped his cloak around himself. It did not make much difference. He looked around and decided that walking towards the smoke was probably wisest. That might mean civilisation, which would mean communications, which would mean that somehow, he could contact the rest of the Brotherhood. Carefully, he pushed one hand outside the cloak to look at it. A dark blister was forming on his knuckles. Perhaps he would have to find a medic who knew something about frostbite. Once again, he huddled into his cloak, and started walking in the direction he had picked. 

_When the snowflakes land in Charles’ hair, they sparkle and melt. They settle on his shoulders in a thin powder, and when he opens his mouth, one lands on his tongue and melts there. When he realises that Erik is watching him, he laughs. Erik can stand the teasing no more. When Charles is about to turn away, he reaches out for him. He stops._

What was it he had forgotten? Erik stopped in his stride. It was not just that he could not remember where he was. There was something else, which felt far more important... 

Perhaps there were clues somewhere. He looked up again, scanning the clearing. In the snow, he almost missed it, lying half-way in around the trees in the direction of the smoke. There was a body, prostrate on the ground, snow-flakes nestling in its hair. 

Erik had not thought that he had the strength to run, but somehow, his legs supported him as he stumbled through the snow as fast as he could muster, towards the body. He fell to his knees beside him, and with numb hands he fumbled for a good grip around his shoulder. He was not a large man, but it still took much momentum to roll him over. Had he had any doubt about who he was, it would have been clear now. It was a face he had not seen for a long time, but every feature of it was etched in his memory. 

‘Charles,’ he croaked. ‘Charles, can you hear me?’ There was no answer. Erik touched his face ( _did I not touch his face that time?_ ) and found it cold. ‘No...’ He did not trust his fingers to feel a pulse, so instead he pulled Charles’ body into his arms and brought his mouth close to his cheek. For a moment, he was not sure whether there was anything to feel or not, but then there was the unmistakable sensation of a breath. ‘Thank God... Charles, it’ll be alright. All is well.’ 

But even as he said it, he knew what a lie it was. Suddenly being lost seemed much worse. On his own, he had a chance. With someone else, it was much less certain, especially someone in such a bad state. Erik might be feeling dazed and weak and have blisters from the cold, but Charles was cold enough to seem dead. Without letting go of him, Erik tugged at his cloak. One sie came loose, and the other ripped. Roughly, he wrapped Charles in it, even as the chill felt worse for himself. Then, he struggled to his feet and picked up the limb body. A little distance away was Charles’ wheelchair. He had never seen the thing before, but he knew it must be his. He considered taking it with them - already his arms were shaking with holding up Charles’ weight - but there was no way he could maneuver the chair through the snow, even if parts of it was made of metal. He picked a direction at random and started walking. Charles’ head lolled against Erik’s shoulder, and his forehead came to rest against the helmet and his cheek. 

‘It’s going to be alright,’ Erik said, taking one heavy step after another. ‘All will be well.’

Then suddenly he remembered the kiss. 

_He turns to face him. Erik’s hand moves as if on its own accord and strokes his cheek. It is cold from the weather, but he can feel the blood coursing under the skin, heating it. He looks into his eyes. The laughter is gone, and instead there is something more profound in them. Charles breaks eye contact only once, when he glances down at Erik’s lips. Erik takes a step towards him, not certain whether this is really happening. Charles leans a little closer, and Erik kisses him._

He stumbled and almost dropped Charles’ legs. The memory seemed so vivid that it might just have happened, instead of being years in the past. Possessively, he pressed Charles closer to him. 

‘I’ll bring you to safety,’ he whispered, but with the next step he stumbled again. His balance was failing - the forest seemed to dance around him. He gripped Charles tightly, but keeping upright was becoming more and more difficult. Suddenly, there was an echo between the trees. 

‘Magneto!’ 

‘Magneto!’ 

_‘Magneto!’_

There was movement - he should turn around, flee, hide - but it was moving towards him - blots of colour against the snow, red and blue and ghostly artificial white. He pressed Charles against him, as the shapes moved closer. 

‘Magneto!’ one called again, and charged. 

The colours blurred and paled, and then blackened. 

***

The world started shaping around him again. He had dreamt of snow, and of kissing Charles. It was still so cold, but the snow was gone. Someone took hold of his wrist; he was not awake enough to shake it off. He was vaguely aware of hushed voices, familiar but unimportant, talking above him. They moved his hand and dipped it into the water. 

He screamed and tried to get away, but someone held him down, while his collaborator kept his hand in the water, which felt like it was boiling. The pain made him stronger. He fought to get loose. As if it was very far off, someone called out something. He was aware of a flurry of activity, and suddenly a damp cloth was pressed to his face. He tried to push it away with his free hand and held his breath, but he was too weak. Finally, he drew breath, but instead of pure air it was the chloroform he inhaled. For another moment, he struggled, and then he plunged back into oblivion. 

***

The next time he awoke, the cold was gone, and in its place was a comfortable warmth. His hands did not hurt any longer, but they felt numb. It was a challenge to open his eyes, but with some effort he did. The first thing he saw was the red light of a fire. 

‘I think he’s waking up.’

‘Magneto?’ He blinked again and looked around. He was wrapped in blankets and lying in a bed which stood close to a fireplace, where a fire burned. Azazel stood at the bedside, watching him apprehensively. A little further away stood Angel, who seemed nervous. With some difficulty, Erik untangled himself from the blankets and sat up. Azazel reached out without taking his eerie eyes off him and steadied him. They had removed his helmet, and he could feel bruises where it rested against his cheeks. They had also taken off most of his clothes. He pulled the blankets around him again; the rest of the room was very cold. 

‘Where am I?’ Erik asked and rubbed his head. It still hurt, as if from strain. He wondered how long he had been unconscious. 

‘The dacha,’ Azazel answered. 

‘Where?’ he repeated. When Azazel said “dacha”, he supposed he was using it more loosely than others would. Erik blinked a few times and looked around the room. It was a nice place, but obviously not built for the winter. Azazel wore a scarf, and Angel, who was usually so conscious about her looks, had a bulky sweater on. From the bed, which they had no doubt moved to bring it this close to the fire, he could see the snow falling outside in the dark. 

‘Close to Kostroma.’ 

‘Kostroma?’

‘In the USSR.’ _That doesn’t make sense,_ Erik thought, rubbing his head. Why were they in Russia of all places? 

‘Why...? Why are we here?’ 

‘Because you told us to,’ Angel, who still looked anxious, said. 

‘Did I?’ Erik asked and started getting up. 

‘Magneto, you shouldn’t...’ 

‘Don’t give me orders,’ Erik said wearily. If he had to have a nurse, he would not have chosen Azazel. ‘Where are my boots?’ Angel scurried to get them, while Azazel helped him into a dressing-gown. 

‘Why did you go out?’ Azazel asked and handed him a pair of socks. As he put them on with bandaged hands onto chilblained feet, Erik tried to recall it. 

‘I don’t know,’ he admitted finally. ‘I can’t remember.’ He paused, confused. His memory was usually very good, good enough that he could sketch faces from memory years after having seen them, but now recent events seemed blurred to him. Angel returned with his boots, and he pulled them on clumsily. ‘How long have I been unconscious?’ 

‘Since yesterday,’ Angel answered. ‘Magneto, are you sure you should...?’ Before she had time to finish the question, Erik rose, swaying on his feet. Azazel grabbed his shoulder to steady him. Erik shrugged him off. 

‘I’m fine,’ he said, even if he was not feeling it. He managed to keep his balance long enough to summon the poker which lay by the fire place, and with a swift motion, he shaped it into a cane. When it landed into his hand, he could still feel the heat from the fire on it. The warmth was comforting as he crossed to the window, where the cold seeped in. All he could see until forest started was the glittering white of the falling snow. The glass emanated the cold outside; even indoors, Erik was sure it was below freezing. Rapidly, the iron cane was turning uncomfortably cold in his grip. 

‘How long have we been here?’ They hesitated. Finally Angel answered: 

‘About a week.’ 

‘And before that?’ 

‘Paris.’ Even with his back turned towards them, he could feel them exchange glances.   
 ‘Do you not remember?’ Azazel asked. 

‘No.’ The mention of that they had been in Paris felt familiar. He had a vague recent memory of speaking French, but not much else. He looked over his shoulder at the others. Their worry was written on their faces. It worried him too - something was very wrong. Instead of pursuing it, he asked something he had wondered about since he woke up. ‘Where is Mystique?’ 

Azazel gestured towards the door. 

‘With the cripple.’ 

Erik’s throat constricted. He had almost forgotten. 

‘He’s alive?’ he asked. His heart beat faster, warming him. Not waiting for them to answer, he told them: ‘Show me where he is.’ Angel walked towards the door, and Erik followed at a slow pace. Before leaving the room, she looked over at Azazel, communicating her confusion at their leader’s memory loss. His head started aching again. 

Angel led him through the unfamiliar house, and as they walked, Erik looked around, trying to find something that would help his memory. It all seemed new to him, apart from the people there. In the hallway, Riptide stood to attention, watching him with a mystified gaze. When they passed the stairs, he saw Emma Frost standing on the top of the landing, gazing down at him, smirking at him as if they had landed in her icy domain where she was queen. Erik looked away, suddenly aware that he was not wearing his helmet. 

At last, they reached a door, which Angel pointed at. She did not go close to it herself. Erik stepped past her and pushed it open. As soon as he stepped in, something blue bounded towards him with a shout. 

‘Erik!’ 

Mystique threw her arms around his neck. With his free hand, he patted her back and stroked her hair, a little surprised at this enthusiasm. Actually, it seemed worried rather than pleased. When she withdrew, he saw that for once she was clothed, but the full-length woolen dress she was wearing was the same shade of blue as her complexion. The swollen skin under her eyes had gone almost purple from crying.

‘I’m so glad you’re awake...’ He nodded, but did not bother to answer. Instead, he stepped past her and crossed to the bed wedged in against the fireplace. 

The figure lying there seemed shrunken, and its skin was white. The blankets were pulled up against his chin, and his face was turned away. Slowly, Erik crossed to the bedside - moving took more effort than it should, as did sitting down on the bed. Charles’ face was pale, but for the bruises, and his eyes closed. 

‘Charles?’ he whispered and touched his cheek. He had hoped for a reaction, but there was none. Behind him, he heard Mystique approach. 

‘He hasn’t woken up since we found you,’ she said. She sounded uncharacteristically shaken. She always kept calm in the face of danger, but worry for the well-being of those she cared about was evidently a different matter. 

‘You’ve been taking care of him?’ She nodded. 

‘The others won’t come near him. Even when he’s like this, they’re scared of him.’ By the look on her face, he half-expected her to say that one of the others had suggested leaving him in the snow. ‘I don’t really know what to do,’ she admitted. ‘He was frozen stiff when we found him, worse than you. It’s gone to his hands and feet. I think it’s frostbite. I tried to warm them up...’ She paused, composing herself. ‘Azazel told me what to do. He did the same with you, and put your hands in water to warm them up. I did that with Charles. He didn’t react when I did his feet, but his hands...’ She swallowed. 

‘It hurts,’ Erik filled in. 

‘He started screaming and thrashing. I could barely hold him still myself, but I didn’t have a choice.’ Erik reached out and squeezed her shoulder. 

‘I’ll help you.’ She snorted. 

‘You’re not well,’ she said. ‘You look awful.’ 

‘So does he,’ Erik observed and rose. In the opposite corner stood a winged armchair. He should have been able just to wave his hand to move it, but it took more effort than he had expected. Shaping the cane out of the poker must have drained his strength worse than he thought. When the armchair finally slid within reach, he slumped heavily into it. It was not until then he noticed the way Mystique was watching him, frowning. 

‘You’re shaking,’ she observed and, crossing to a cupboard, took out a blanket and offered it to him. He spread it over himself, grateful for the extra warmth. 

‘It’s cold in here,’ he said. 

‘The water keeps freezing,’ she said and sat down on the bed, her eyes on her brother. ‘If I’m this cold, how must Charles feel?’ 

‘I guess that’s why you’re dressed for once,’ he said. Mystique smiled at him. 

‘I’m grateful for it.’ 

‘For what?’ he asked. Her face fell. 

‘The dress.’ It took Erik a moment to figure out what she was trying to convey. 

‘Did I give it to you?’ 

‘Yes,’ she said, mystified that he did not know. ‘The morning after you decided we were coming here, you took me out and found the cloth. You made them sew it up in a few hours, so I’d have something warm to wear. Don’t you remember?’ He shook his head. 

‘No. The others are as surprised as you.’ 

‘How much do you remember?’ Mystique asked. Erik shrugged. 

‘I’m not sure.’ 

‘What’s Charles doing here? Do you know that?’ 

‘No.’ 

‘But how did he even get here?’ she exclaimed. ‘And what are we doing here? It must all have something to do with each other.’ Erik sighed and rubbed his forehead. 

‘I’m sure it does,’ he said. ‘I just have no idea how.’ He strained his memory. He did remember Paris. If he concentrated hard he remembered some parts vividly. But he could find no trace of a memory of taking out Mystique to buy that dress, or indeed deciding to go to Russia. It made him think that he _had_ banged his head against something, but he had none of the usual symptoms of concussion, and the only pain in his head seemed to be inside, not on any particular point. 

‘Has Frost tried to get into his mind?’ Erik asked and gestured at Charles.

‘She tried just when we found him, but his shields are too strong. There’s no way in.’ Mystique reached out and stroked Charles’ hair back. ‘I don’t know if it’s because my hands are going cold, but I almost think he feels warm now,’ she said. ‘What do we do if he falls ill?’ 

‘I think he’s already ill, Mystique.’ 

‘You know what I mean,’ she sighed. ‘I just wished I could take better care of him.’ 

Erik leaned back in the armchair, watching the two of them. Charles looked pitiful where he lay, pale and still, so unlike how he had been that time they had walked in the snow, years ago. With a sigh, he looked away from the bed and out of the window. It was getting dark, he realised, but the snow was still falling. It had piled high on the windowsill and weighed down the branches of the trees. 

‘Has it snowed ever since I went outside?’ he asked. 

‘Even since we got here,’ Mystique said, suddenly sounding annoyed. Perhaps irritation at the weather was the only way she could express her feelings, stuck in this room, taking care of a man the others would rathe have seen dead. ‘It hasn’t stopped once, as far as I’ve seen. It’s a wonder we can open the door.’ Despite the cold, Erik could not share her annoyance at the snow. It was a reminder of that kiss. The memory brought a smile to his lips. Mystique must have noticed it, because suddenly she asked: ‘What are you thinking of?’ 

‘Nothing,’ Erik lied, but it did not sound even plausible. ‘Just something that happened years ago. Before Cuba.’ 

‘Oh?’ He sighed, but answered. 

‘It’s nothing. I just remember Charles and I walking in the snow...’ He had expected Mystique to press him for more details, but instead she was silent. When he looked at her, she was frowning. 

‘When was that?’ she asked. 

‘Oh, you weren’t there,’ he said. ‘It was when we were recruiting.’ Suddenly, Mystique’s mouth thinned. 

‘When you were recruiting?’ she repeated. 

‘Yes.’ Erik could not see why she was arguing about this - it seemed so straight-forward. ‘We went for a walk in the snow...’ 

Mystique shifted so that she faced him, and put a hand against his arm. 

‘Erik,’ she said, in a tone he had never heard her use before. It was slow and measured, and made him think that she had learnt it from Charles. Still there was no jest in her manner. Her face was solemn, but there was worry in her eyes. ‘There was no snow.’ 

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ he said. 

‘There wasn’t,’ she repeated, failing not to sound desperate. ‘You and Charles met in June. The Missile Crisis was in October. It was summer - there was no snow!’

Realisation hit him. She was right, it had never been that cold. The memory did not make sense. He remembered it, but now, when he thought about it, he had no idea where they were, where they were walking to, how long they had known each other, and what they had spoken about. 

‘Good Lord,’ he whispered. 

‘Just stay here,’ Mystique told him and pressed his hand briefly. Then she rose and left the room. She closed the door behind her, but he could still hear snippets of the conversation outside. 

_‘...no idea why we’re here...’_

_‘He did not know where we were.’_

_‘And Paris - he didn’t know about that...’_

_‘What if...?’_

_‘He told me this memory...’_

_‘It must be.’_

_‘He’s lost it.’_  
 Erik covered his eyes and leaned his head in his hand. The more he heard his own subordinates ask whether he was losing his mind, the more he thought that it might actually be true. Finally, he let his hand fall and he looked at Charles, still pale and unconscious in the bed. Had it not been for his presence, he would have been convinced himself that he had gone mad. 

‘But what else could have happened?’ he asked his friend, knowing he would not answer.


	2. Chapter 2

The days crept by slowly. The snow did not seem to stop. It would dwindle to few solitary flakes, only to increase again. Charles floated in and out of consciousness, but he never properly woke. He did not even react when Mystique, who barely left his bedside, called his name. Erik spent most of his time out of bed, and little by little, he felt himself grow stronger. The iron cane slowly stopped feeling like a necessity. He roamed the house, trying to find some clue to why they were here. No-one knew anything, not even Mystique. That made Erik wonder what was so special about this plan. He usually confided in her, if not the others, but she was as clueless as he was. He always ended up back by Charles’ bed, watching the slow rise and fall of his chest. When Mystique was not there, he would speak to him, in the hope that he would suddenly wake up and answer all his questions. 

‘The others are sure I’ve gone insane,’ he explained. ‘By the way Emma Frost glares at me, I think it must be true. None of it makes sense. Perhaps they’re right.’ He rubbed his aching head, and then resumed watching Charles. The memory of the kiss was haunting him again. It made no sense. Besides, why could he not remember kissing him more than that once? The kiss in the snow was an isolated event, which made no sense in its context. When they had said farewell on the beach, they had not been lovers - Erik knew that without a doubt - but before that, they had had no serious falling-out. Disagreements, of course, arguments, certainly, perhaps even fights, but never enough to be a break-up. But perhaps there were other memories missing... But no, the snow didn’t make sense. ‘It doesn’t snow in July,’ he said to Charles. ‘I must be going mad, then.’ 

But how he wanted it not to be a symptom of madness! Slowly he moved from the armchair onto the bedside. He ran his fingers through Charles’ hair. It was soft against his skin, but the chilblains made it difficult for him to feel it properly. They frustrated him, but at least they did not hurt anymore. He imagined that Charles’ were more painful. It was probably a good thing that he was mostly unconscious. Thinking about it made Erik feel powerless. There was nothing he could do to help him. He could think of any way to alleviate his suffering. Hoping that at least his goodwill would do some difference, he leaned over him and pressed his lips against his forehead. Charles’ face was worryingly warm against his. 

The next day Erik decided to retrieve the wheelchair left in the clearing. He half hoped that there would be some clues there, but he knew that that was probably a vain hope. The rest of the Brotherhood obviously thought that going back was madness; they only left the house for provisions. The weather was anything but inviting, but the desire to get away from their objections made him even more inclined to leave. He brought Riptide with him; he might share the others’ opinions, but he had no way of expressing it. 

It was obvious that some premeditation had gone into coming here, because there was plenty of warm fur coats and good boots, but even that did not fully stave off the cold. It found the small gaps between buttons and the space between scarves and skin, and breathed its vicious breath into you. Erik could see how a land with a will as strong as this one made the people who lived on it spin fantastic myths. In the constantly falling snow and the exhaled mist, the cold seemed almost to manifest and walk with them, a phantom whose white robes whipped up the already fallen snow around them. When he had still been confined to the house, Erik had thought jokingly that Frost, who had isolated herself upstairs, must be in her element. Now he realised how inhuman and ancient any manifestation of the winter must be. The White Queen suddenly seemed petty and powerless. Nature around them was greater than humans and mutants alike. For the first time in a long time, Erik felt very insignificant. 

Finding the clearing where he had woken up turned out to be more difficult than he had first expected. The snow had changed the appearance of the woods, and after almost a week of constant snow, it was close to impossible to tell if they were on the right track. Erik walked first, struggling through the snow which went to his knees, wishing that he had brought the cane with him. Riptide followed him, silent as always. 

‘Is this the right way?’ Erik asked and turned around. Riptide shrugged. ‘Can you clear a path?’ Riptide spun a finger around, mimicking a whirlwind, and then covered his eyes. Erik understood what he was saying - his wind would only stir up the snow and blind them. ‘Let’s continue, then.’ He continued wading through the snow, Riptide trudging behind him. He wished that he was strong enough to levitate himself over the snow - it would only be a few feet, but there was no way he would manage to do that in this state. Just walking was exhausting him, and he needed his strength to move the chair when they found it. In reality, he did not know what they would do with it. He wondered if it was his muddled mind making him see some kind of mystical connection between Charles and the chair, and leaving it out in the snow made him worse. 

‘Take the lead,’ he said and gestured to him to pass. Riptide did as he was told, mimicking stamping with his hands, something Erik interpreted as meaning, _it must be hard work._ As they started walking again, Erik reflected that he was glad Riptide was still in the Brotherhood. After Mystique, he was the one he probably trusted most. He knew that Janos had every reason to be loyal to him, and unlike Azazel and Frost, he had reasons to hate Shaw. Ritpide had never mentioned it when he wrote messages rather than mimicked, but Erik had heard the story from Azazel. When he had been younger, Janos had been quite the talker. He had been loud and opinionated, and at first Shaw had liked him for it. But little by little, it had started to annoy him, until one night when the youung mutant contested yet another plan and Shaw lost his temper. Janos had narrowly avoided choking to death on the flow of blood, and when he finally recovered as much as he ever would, he had no choice but to stay with Shaw. There was no other place for a mute - his amused leader had become his tyrannical protector. Erik guessed that he had become so used to this twisted guardianship that when Shaw died and Erik took his place, Riptide was not interested in having his bonds broken. Instead, he happily took a new leader. Shaw had made Riptide believe that he could never live without someone to follow, much as he had made Erik believe that he was a monster. They were ideas neither of them could break free from. 

The muffled sound of gloved hands clapping woke Erik from his thoughts. When he looked up, he saw that Riptide was pointing ahead. With some difficulty, he walked to his side through the undisturbed snow to see. 

Much snow had fallen the past few days, but after a while, Erik recognised the trees. This was the clearing. On the far side of it, he could make out something bulky under the snow. He made his way towards it. Half-way across the clearing, he could sense the metal of the chair. Raising both hands, he took command of it, and the chair lifted, disturbing the cover of snow. It was heavy, even more so as he was lifting the whole chair by only some pieces of metal. The exertion made him sweat despite the cold, and the chilly air stung his lungs as he drew breath. Still he managed to keep the chair aloft until it reached them. He let it fall down beside Riptide, who righted it as Erik tried to catch his breath. Janos pointed the way they came. 

‘Yes,’ Erik said, straightening up. ‘We’re going back.’ 

But something kept him from turning away from the clearing. There was nothing there to help him explain their presence, but seeing the outline of the trees reminded him of something he had seen then, just after waking. 

‘There was a pillar of smoke over there,’ he said and pointed towards where had been. ‘It must have been a big fire...’ Of some reason, he felt drawn towards whatever was beyond those trees, as if he had somehow been preconditioned to want to go there. He wondered if it was relevant, or just an impulse connected to his supposed insanity. Pushing it aside, he turned to Riptide. ‘Do you know what’s beyond those trees?’ 

Riptide thought about it, and then turned his hand palm-up and traced his finger over it. 

‘I don’t understand,’ Erik said. Janos repeated the mime, then made a gesture which Erik thought might indicate big ears or big ear-rings. ‘We’ll go back,’ he said, feeling exasperated at the inadequate communication.

Getting back took well over half an hour, and when they came inside they were both shaking with cold. Mystique was waiting just inside the door with a blanket and his cane. As soon as he stepped inside and the door had closed, she started unbuttoning his coat for him. It made Erik wonder if she had ever mothered Charles like this when they had lived together. 

‘Did you find it?’ she asked, sounding as if she was certain that the whole excursion had probably been a waste of time. 

‘Yes,’ he said and let her take his coat in exchange for the blanket. ‘Riptide is taking it round the back.’ He stamped the snow off his boots, before they walked towards Charles’ room. ‘How is he?’ She shrugged, tight-lipped. 

‘Come inside,’ she said. ‘There’s tea.’ 

Soon Erik sat in the armchair by Charles’ bed, clutching a tea-glass. Charles was half-awake and was writhing in the sheets, a look of pain on his face. There was no way of talking with him. Twice he murmured something, but Erik could not hear what it was. He and Mystique shared helpless glances, neither of them knowing what to do. It took a long while before he calmed down and fell into a fitful sleep. When he did, Erik decided to speak. 

‘What’s beyond the forest where you found us?’ 

‘Well, to the north there’s the town,’ she said. ‘Or perhaps it’s a village. It’s very small.’ Erik thought through the direction. His powers made it possible for him to tell, if he concentrated. 

‘And towards the east?’ he asked. Mystique thought it through. 

‘I think there’s a gypsy camp there.’ Erik saw now that Janos’ mime before had been of palmistry. Mystique was watching him oddly. ‘Why do you ask?’ 

‘I saw smoke from there, just after I woke there,’ he explained and rose from the armchair. 

‘Do you think it has anything to do with...?’ 

‘Something must have happened,’ Erik said. ‘It seems like too much of a coincidence. Where is Azazel?’ 

‘The kitchen,’ Mystique said. ‘Are you sending him there?’ 

‘It’s the easiest way of finding out,’ he said and headed for the kitchen. 

He found Azazel huddled against the fire-stove, blowing warmth into his hands. It took him a moment to react to the mutant standing above him, and when he did, he did not seem very interested. 

‘Yes, comrade?’ 

‘I have a job for you. There’s a gypsy camp east of the clearing where you found me and Charles. I want you to go there and then report back.’ Azazel looked at him for a moment and then shook his head. 

‘No.’ 

‘Why not?’ 

‘It’s getting dark.’ Erik looked out of the window. The light was fading, but sunsets were slow here. 

‘There’s plenty of time,’ he told him. 

‘We would give away that we are here if someone saw me,’ Azazel said. 

‘My guess is that there’ll be no-one there,’ Erik told him and poked him with his cane. ‘Go now, before it gets dark for real.’ The next stage would be threats, but that did not prove necessary. Azazel got to his feet and with a final sneer, he disappeared in a puff of red smoke. With a wave of his hand, Erik pulled a chair up close to the fire and sat down, trying to warm his hands. 

He had only been there for five minutes when the same red tendrils filled the kitchen, and Azazel appeared again. 

‘Nothing,’ was the first word he spoke. 

‘Were they gone?’ Erik asked. Azazel shook his head. 

‘No. The camp was destroyed.’ That made him feel a sense of alarm which seemed oddly out of proportion. It was beyond his usual disgust at persecution, but felt almost as if it had to do with him directly. 

‘By whom?’ he asked, clearing his throat. 

‘I do not know. The townspeople, perhaps.’ 

‘Where there any bodies?’ 

‘None I could see,’ Azazel said. At least that was a relief. ‘I think they fled, but not with much. There were possessions, tents, caravans left. All burnt.’ Erik got to his feet and crossed to the window. In the dusk, the snow seemed to grow brighter by attracting the little light that remained. 

‘So for some reason someone attacks these people, drives them away and puts a torch to their homes,’ he murmured. ‘Why?’ 

‘Gypsies are not popular neighbours.’ 

Erik knew that all too well - his people had not been the only ones the Nazis had persecuted. Many years after the war, he had known a gypsy girl who had been in the camps, Magda. He had loved her, he thought, but her love for him had been cut short. When she had seen him use his powers - only turning a coin around his fingers - she had been so terrified that she had left him. That had broken his belief in the power of love, until he had met Charles. 

But he did not think that prejudice alone was enough to explain this. Somehow he was certain that this was connected to Charles’ presence and by extension to whatever brought the Brotherhood here. Thinking about it gave him a headache, like the one he had had for the past week. 

‘Very well,’ he said, not wanting to show that he was in pain. Azazel evidently understood that he was not wanted, and slunk away. Erik stayed at the window for a long time, watching night fall. 

***

_Mama was there. She was crouching down to look at him properly. Her eyes were so tired, and she looked so worried._

_‘Was haben sie dir getan?’ she asked, stroking his cheek. He did not know what they had done to him, as she asked. He could not remember. ‘Was hat er dir getan?’_

_‘Meinst du Schmidt, mama?’ he asked._

_‘Nein - der Mann da.’ She pointed behind him, and he turned to look. In the distance he saw someone, walking towards them. The gait and the clothes were all familiar. That blue cardigan, the brown head of hair, the large eyes whose bright colour would be told even at this distance. Mama must be wrong - Charles would never do anything to him... would he?_

‘Erik! Erik!’ 

He opened his eyes, shaken rudely awake. Leaning over him was Mystique, still grabbing his shoulders. He shook her off, rubbing his eyes. He had been dreaming. It had been important somehow, but he could not remember how. Briefly he wondered if he had screamed in his sleep, which was not uncommon that he had, but Mystique looked too alarmed for that. He sat up and asked: 

‘What’s happened?’ She swallowed, trying to compose herself. The past week had taught him that only one thing would agitate her this much. 

‘It’s Charles,’ she explained. ‘He’s worse - must worse.’ Erik got up and put his boots on, nodding to her to continue speaking. ‘His fever is so much worse, and he can’t breathe properly. He has this horrible wound on his back, and one of his legs have swelled up...’ Shrugging on a dressing-gown, he took her by the elbow and steered her towards Charles’ room. Even across the room, he could see that she had been right. His face was flushed and his breathing laboured. As Erik approached, Charles shook with an attempted cough, but he seemed too weak to manage it. 

‘We need to find a doctor,’ Erik said and touched his friend’s forehead, hot and clammy. He knew that they should have done that days ago, probably as soon as they came there, but his distrust in the medical profession had made him put it off. Now, he was suddenly afraid that they had waited too late. 

‘Can we do that?’ Mystique asked. 

‘We don’t have a choice,’ Erik answered and, grabbing Charles’ shoulders, pulled him onto his side. It should make it easier for him to breathe, and he assumed that the wound Mystique had mentioned was a pressure-sore. Judging from his own experience, he guessed that this was pneumonia, which was worrying. ‘Tell Azazel we’re going into the village. Make sure he covers up - he might have to talk to people.’ Mystique knew better than to linger, but nodded and left. Erik knew he had to get ready, but before leaving, he leaned in and kissed Charles’ hot forehead. 

‘ _Alles ist gut_ ,’ he whispered before turning away. The irony was not lost on him. 

***

One moment, Erik and Azazel were standing in the drafty hallway. The next, they found themselves outside, in an abandoned alleyway. 

‘So this is the village,’ Erik said and went out of the alley to the main street. He pushed the fur hat further down over his ears. Azazel followed; his face was almost entirely covered by a scarf, and the skin around his eyes burned red in the otherwise colourless world. 

‘And how do we find a doctor?’ 

‘We ask,’ Erik said and went up to the closest door. He knocked on it, but no-one answered. He proceeded to the next, banging hard on the thin wood. There was a pause, but then there was movement from inside. Quickly, he gathered his thoughts, hoping his Russian was good enough for this. 

‘ _Kto_?’ someone called from inside. 

‘ _Nam nuzhna pomoshch_!’ he called back. At first nothing happened. Then, slowly, the door opened, and a fraction of an old man’s face appeared in the crack. 

‘ _Kakuiu pomoshch_?’ 

Erik struggled to remember his interrogatives. 

‘ _Est li vrach b derevne?_ ’ The old man’s one eye watched him, and then he said something so quickly that Erik did not catch it. Before he had time to ask what he had said, the door closed again. He turned and looked at Azazel. 

‘Did you hear what he said?’ Azazel nodded. 

‘The doctor lives five doors down,’ he said. ‘Just opposite the church.’ Erik simply nodded and set off. He was usually so good at languages that struggling made him feel very inadequate. Still, he had not spoken Russian for decades, and most of what he knew were things he had picked up just after the war. It was not surprising that he was finding it difficult. 

They walked down the empty main street. Occasionally, Erik could see someone watching through a window, but soon they would disappear behind thick curtains. 

‘The cold is keeping people in,’ he observed. 

‘Not the cold, Magneto,’ Azazel said. ‘People here are used to that. It is something else.’ 

‘Fear, then.’ _But for what?_ he wondered. If the villagers had destroyed the gypsy camp nearby, perhaps they were afraid of retaliation. But that did not ring quite true. This was a place which evidently did not welcome strangers, so it was not a threat from inside that worried them. It seemed more likely that they were afraid that whoever had driven the gypsies away would attack them too. That implied that the destruction of their homes had served some purpose other than just being an expression of irrational hate. Otherwise, the villagers would not expect trouble. 

This made Erik worry that the doctor would refuse to see them, but this time their knocks were answered soon. The door opened by a girl - a maid or a daughter, Erik guessed - who asked him how she could help. He explained what they wanted, she waved them in and disappeared. The hall was cold, but by no means as cold as outside. The chilblains on Erik’s hands were uncomfortable in his gloves, so he took them off. He was flexing his fingers, hoping to warm them that way, when a middle-aged man stepped into the hallway. He was wearing a suit and half-mitts, an absurd but probably very sensible combination. He asked in Russian what he could do for them, and Erik opened his mouth to answer, but he was not certain where to start and what words to use. Before he had made up his mind, Azazel spoke instead. Erik could pick out words and sometimes sentences which he understood, so he knew that he was giving an accurate account, but he would not have been able to give that explanation himself. He watched the doctor as he listened to to the explanation of the man who lay ill in the dacha. Once, Erik saw him glancing at his hands, registering the chilblains on his skin. Mostly, he watched Azazel’s eyes, the only thing visible in his face. Erik could tell that he wondered why he kept his face hidden, and why the skin around his eyes looked so odd. Erik did not know what to do if the doctor realised what they were. It would be unfortunate if they had to kill him. Still, it was something which would not happen until he had helped Charles. That was more important than keeping their secret. 

When Azazel’s explanation was over, the doctor asked them to wait, and he disappeared into the rest of the house again. Soon he returned with a leather bag, and started putting his furs on as he explained that his car would not work in this cold. Azazel glanced at Erik to make sure that he had understood; he in turn nodded at them both to show that he had. 

With the village doctor’s car out of order and no horses at hand, walking was the only option. Erik considered if teleporting was an option, but he knew that if they were to keep their identity a secret, it was not. It took a quarter of an hour to walk to the dacha, short enough to be doable but long enough that Erik started to worry that something might have happened while they were away. When they stepped inside, a blonde girl dressed in Mystique’s blue woolen dress stood inside the door, waiting for them. Seeing Raven again was strange; Erik hoped that she had taken on this face for the benefit of the doctor and not for Charles. Still, for all they knew, Charles might be dying, and he could understand if she wanted to watch over him with the face he had taught her to wear. 

Wordlessly, she waved the doctor in and led him to the room where Charles lay. 

‘Azazel, go with them,’ Erik said under his breath, careful not to let the doctor hear them speak English. ‘We need to know what he says.’ Azazel nodded and followed. Erik sincerely hoped that their visitor would not notice the tail sticking from under the observer’s coat. He returned to his own room, reluctant to watch the doctor work. Settling down was difficult. He knew that if Charles died now, it would probably be his fault, on top of everything else, and he would probably never learn what they were doing here. 

A long time later, there was a light knock on the half-closed door. It was the village doctor who pushed it open. 

‘ _Voidite,_ ’ Erik said. The doctor approached. 

‘ _Sie sprechen Deutsch_?’ Hearing the man speak German surprised him; he assumed that Azazel had told him that to make communication easier. It was obvious that he was not comfortable with the language, but his German seemed better than Erik’s Russian. 

‘ _Ja._ ’ 

‘ _Ihre Hände..._ ’ He gestured towards Erik’s hands, indicating him to show them. Reluctantly, he held them out for inspection. The doctor looked them over and tutted to himself. Erik refused to take his boots off to let him look at his feet. The man shrugged, evidently realising that arguing would be unhelpful and probably linguistically impossible anyway. Instead, he gestured towards his hands and said: ‘ _Besser als ihn._ ’ Better than him. Erik got to his feet. In quick succession, he asked him about Charles. What was wrong with him? How bad was it? What could they do? Would he get better? 

But the doctor shrugged to show that he could not answer or did not understand. He simply said good-bye and, as if he did not want to linger among the strange inhabitants of the dacha, he left. By the time Erik made it into the hallway, only the chill of a recently opened door showed that he had been there at all. Behind him, he could hear someone moving. 

‘Magneto...’ 

He swirled around. Azazel, the scarf pulled away from his face now, stood facing him. 

‘What did he say?’ Erik asked urgently. ‘How is he?’ 

‘He said that he must get to hospital,’ Azazel explained. ‘Soon. He could be dead by this evening.’ 

‘You have to take him,’ Erik said. Azazel looked uncertain. 

‘The teleportation could kill him.’ 

 

‘And staying here _will_ kill him,’ Erik retorted. 

‘Where shall I take him?’ 

‘As far west as you can go in one jump,’ he said. ‘Get him out of the Soviet Union. Then we must get a message to his students.’ He knew that that meant relinquishing his grip of him, but all the same he knew that it was necessary. 

Before he had time to give him any further instructions, Mystique appeared beside Azazel, once again blue-skinned. 

‘He’s awake,’ she said breathlessly. ‘He’s asking for you.’ 

_It can’t be..._ Erik pushed between them, into the bedroom. His mind was reeling - all those days of unconsciousness, and now, when he was close to dying, he awoke. He realised that he was laughing - only Charles could be so aggravatingly surprising. 

The patient was lying still in bed, but his face was turned towards the door and his eyes were open, glassy with fever. 

‘Erik...’ he murmured. Erik quickened his step and came to the bedside. 

‘Charles... Charles, it’s going to be alright,’ he said and touched his face. 

‘The children,’ he whispered. Then he broke out in a coughing fit, which made his whole body shake. 

‘I’ll let your students know where you are,’ Erik assured him. ‘They can come and be with you, when we’ve moved you.’ 

‘No...’ 

‘You don’t want that?’ 

‘No,’ Charles said again, sounding frustrated. Evidently speaking was difficult, and he had somehow misunderstood him. ‘Not _mine_.’ 

‘Not your children?’ Erik repeated. Charles nodded and coughed again. Erik leaned over him and carefully lifted him up to hold him, hushing him. 

‘You’ll be alright,’ he told him, not knowing whether he was lying or not. ‘You’ll be alright.’ 

‘You need to find them,’ Charles whispered. ‘Before the others do...’ 

‘Who?’ Erik asked, but it was evident that his friend did not have the strength to speak any more. He needed to let him go now, if he wanted to keep him at all. ‘I love you,’ he whispered and kissed his face. Charles did not say anything, but he shifted against him. That was enough for an answer. 

He still held him when he called Azazel in. When the teleporter say him like that, holding the invalid in his arms, he hesitated in the door, embarrassed by the scene he was watching. 

‘We need to wrap him in a blanket,’ Erik said. Mystique pushed her way into the room to help him, and together, they wrapped him tightly in a blanket and helped Azazel to lift him. Where he lay in his arms, he looked smaller than he was, as if there was already something of him missing. Mystique kissed him goodbye. Erik wanted to do the same, but knew that he could not. 

‘As much to the west as you can,’ he reminded Azazel. The demon nodded, and in a red puff of smoke, he was gone. They stayed where they were, watching the smoke disperse. Mystique’s hand slipped into his, and he squeezed it. 

‘He’ll be safe now,’ Erik said. She nodded, but did not believe him. Without a word, she drew back her hand and left the room. With a sigh, Erik walked to the armchair where he had spent so much of the last week. As he sank into it, watching the empty, crumbled bed, he felt tears sting his eyes. _Children - not mine - you need to find them._ What children? Not Hank and the others, evidently, but something else. Children who were not his... Was this the reason why he had come? Erik knew that Charles had been recruiting mutant children form around the world, but surely he could not go on his own, especially not into the depths of the Soviet Union. The Brotherhood had come here by teleporter, he had been told, because that was the only way to get here. The place was remote - they were miles away from any railway or serviceable road - and for all he knew, it was almost empty. The few people who lived here did not want anything to do with strangers. What were they afraid of? A group of mutants come to their village, something happens, people are driven from their homes... It could not be coincidence. 

‘Are you figuring it out yet?’ Erik looked around. Emma Frost stood in the doorway, with a smile as cold as the air outside. He scrambled to his feet, looking around for his helmet. ‘It’s in your room,’ she said. ‘You know that.’ She took a step in and kicked the door shut with a white high-heeled boot. 

‘Leave me alone,’ Erik growled. 

‘What do you think my range is, Magneto?’ she asked, crossing her arms. ‘I know that your friend the cripple is more powerful than me, but if you think that I need to be in the same room as someone to read their thoughts, you’re grossly underestimating me.’ 

Erik tightened his jaw. Somehow he had thought that the distance to the upper floor would be enough, but now he realised how foolish he had been. Frost was evidently following his train of thought, because now her smirk grew. 

‘I’ve had a week to go through your thoughts,’ she explained. 

‘So is it true what they others are saying?’ 

‘Do you believe them?’ she asked, stepping closer. ‘You should know better. You haven’t lost your mind, Magneto. You’ve had it taken away from you.’


	3. Chapter 3

Erik stared at Frost, wondering if he had heard her right. The words did not seem to make sense to him. How could his mind have been taken away from him? 

‘I don’t understand,’ he said finally. Frost laughed, delighted. 

‘How can you be so slow? So stupid? He’s been manipulating you.’ 

‘No,’ he said under his breath. ‘Charles wouldn’t do that.’

‘Oh, yes, he would. You know that,’ she snorted. ‘He’s not some kind of saint. He entered your mind and he cut a chunk out of it. That’s where the headaches comes from.’ 

For the first time since she entered his room, Erik felt he dared to turn her his back. He made his way to the armchair, not even minding that it showed that what she was saying was making him feel unsteady. Frost did not seem to mind; instead, she just continued speaking, as she leaned against a set of drawers. 

‘What confuses me is that you must have been stupid enough to take off your helmet in his presence,’ she said. ‘Probably it wasn’t very long either. He did a sloppy job. That false memory makes it screamingly obvious what he’s done.’ 

‘A false memory?’ Erik repeated. ‘The walk in the snow?’ 

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I guess it’s a little daydream of his that he decided to use, and you wanted it to be true badly enough that you accepted it as a real memory.’ 

‘But it doesn’t make sense,’ Erik concluded. _I should have known - it was obvious. Why did I never think that it might be his doing?_

‘It was just your wish for it to be real that blinded you.’ 

‘But why would he do that? What did he take?’ The idea made him feel cold inside. He had trusted Charles - he had even wanted him to reach into his mind, as that in itself would have been a sign that he could communicate - but instead he had cut into his thoughts and taken his memories. For all he knew, there were things which had happened in his life that he could no longer remember. ‘How far back did he go?’ 

‘Only the past weeks,’ Frost said. ‘You can remember Paris, can’t you?’ 

‘Vaguely.’ 

‘But not deciding to come here,’ she surmised. Erik shook his head. ‘I suspected that something was wrong as soon as you made the decision. In the middle of the night, waking everyone with your raving... It seemed like someone had interfered somehow. I think, though, that he simply communicated with you. You weren’t being controlled.’ 

‘What did he take?’ Erik asked. ‘Why are we here?’ 

‘I have no idea,’ she admitted. ‘The memories are gone, Magneto. The only one who knows might be dying for all we know.’ Erik sighed. 

‘Then perhaps we should leave,’ he said. ‘There is no reason to linger here, if we don’t know what we are doing here.’ Frost scoffed. 

‘It is not like you to give up,’ she said and approached. She stopped right in front of him, looking down at him with kohled eyes. ‘Besides, you know enough to figure it out.’ 

‘I don’t,’ he said. ‘I know nothing.’ Frost threw up her hands in exasperation. 

‘He spoke to you, didn’t he?’ 

‘Yes...’ 

‘What did he say?’ Erik thought about it. 

‘He spoke about children,’ he said. ‘He told me to find the children, before the others did.’ He thought about it for a moment, and then shook his head. ‘He was probably being delirious. His fever...’ 

‘No, he was making sense,’ Frost said, obviously sure of it. ‘Let me give you another piece of the puzzle. That village doctor you brought was suspicious of us, and he wondered whether we were the ones the soldiers were looking for.’ Erik looked up in surprise. 

‘The soldiers?’ He thought about the village, with its empty streets and twitching curtains. He thought about the gypsy camp, deserted and burned. He thought of what Charles had said - “you must find them, before the others do.” ‘That was what Charles meant...’ 

‘And the reason why we’re here,’ Frost said. 

‘For the children?’ Erik repeated. ‘What children?’ But even as he said it, he realised that they must have been children of the gypsies. ‘What would the army want with them?’ Frost sighed and sat down on the bed. 

‘What do you know about that helmet of yours?’ she asked. 

‘It was Shaw’s...’ 

‘Where did he get it from?’ 

‘I always assumed that he constructed it.’ Frost shook her head slowly, her smile bordering on condescending. 

‘It was a gift,’ she explained, ‘from the Russians, to keep Xavier out of his head.’ Erik frowned. 

‘The Russians have the technology to do that?’ 

‘Obviously they do,’ she said. ‘They also have the knowledge of telepaths to do it. The CIA took an interest in mutants. Is it really surprising if the KGB doesn’t also?’ Erik thought about it, and sighed. 

‘No, it’s not.’ Briefly, he thought about Schmidt, and wondered to what end the SS would have wanted to use his mutant powers. Then he returned to the matter at hand, unwilling to dwell on the past. ‘So there were some mutant children among the gypsies. The state wanted them, for whatever reason. They destroyed the camp and drove everyone away...’ But the villagers seemed afraid that they would be back. ‘But they did not find the children.’ It was not impossible that someone in the village was hoarding them or at least helping them, but he thought it implausible. How the children would survive on their own in this cold, however, was difficult to imagine. ‘Are they still searching?’ 

‘From what I gathered from the doctor’s mind, yes,’ Frost said. Then she pointed out: ‘You’re still missing something.’ 

‘Why don’t you just tell me?’ Erik snapped. ‘I don’t want to play this game.’ 

‘It wouldn’t be as fun. What did Xavier say about the children?’ Erik strained his memory. He had thought at first that he had meant his own students, but he had refuted it. 

‘“Not mine”,’ he said. ‘That was what he said.’ Frost watched him, evidently interested to see if he understood it. ‘I don’t understand. What of it?’ She smirked. 

‘Your love is blinding you,’ she said. ‘Even after all this time, you’re so infatuated with your telepath friend that you don’t want to think of other loves.’ She edged closer and looked him in the eye. ‘“Not mine”, he said. What’s the opposite?’ He stared back at her defiantly. There was no direct opposite. His, hers, theirs... 

‘Yours,’ he said. Saying it made him feel oddly numb, while his heart suddenly beat harder. It could not be, it must not be... ‘Magda.’ 

‘How many years ago were you with her, Magneto?’ she asked. ‘Thirteen? So the children would be old enough to have their powers...’ 

‘Children!’ he exclaimed. ‘That makes no sense - we were not together for that long....’ 

‘But enough for her to become pregnant,’ Frost said. ‘What is to say that she did not have twins?’ He shook his head. It could not be... ‘Think about it, Magneto! Why would Xavier call you? Surely not to run his errands for him - not just because he wanted an excuse to see you? He had found something that was so close to you that he felt he needed to tell you.’ 

Erik turned away. He wished Frost would leave him to his thoughts.

‘But why would he make me forget?’ 

‘Why were you both unconscious in that clearing?’ Frost retorted. ‘Perhaps you were attacked. Maybe he was worried that you would not keep your peace... or that you would put yourself in danger.’ She shifted a little and then admitted: ‘I don’t think he did it out of spite. He had a reason. From what I’ve gathered, he is one for high morals.’

Erik got up. It was all too much to take in. But no, he could not let it overwhelm him. If it did, it would paralyse him completely. 

‘The children must be somewhere in the area,’ he said, looking out of the window. They must be hungry and cold, if they were still alive. ‘We must find them.’ 

Frost rolled her eyes. 

‘Most likely, they’re already dead,’ she pointed out. ‘In this kind of cold, you can freeze to death within hours. They must have been outside for a week. Even if they’re hiding inside...’ 

‘We’re going to find them,’ Erik said through gritted teeth. He knew that Frost might be right, but it did not change anything. The thought of the small bodies of children left outside to become the prey of animals awoke an anger in him which he thought he had lost during this past week. His mother and his father - his entire family - had been left in unmarked graves. He would not want the same for his children. 

Without a word, he left the room and headed towards his own. Frost followed him. He decided to ignore her, and instead started putting on his furs. 

‘And if we find them alive, what do we do with them?’ she asked. 

‘They’re mutants. Their place is with their own kind.’ 

‘The Brotherhood is no place for children, Magneto.’ 

Erik paused. In that respect she was right. Finally, he answered: 

‘We send them to Charles’ school.’ He just hoped that Charles would live to take care of them. 

***

When they stepped outside, it had finally stopped snowing. The snow still lay high, reaching over Erik’s knees. He had sent Riptide and Mystique in one direction and had taken Frost with him in the other. Behind him, she was muttering at how her trousers were being ruined by the wet. In any other circumstances, that would have put him in a better mood. Now, it was simply dead noise which disturbed the silence. He needed her telepathy, but he was not happy about having to bring her with him. He wished he could be alone now and think through what he had learned without having a telepath close by. The realisation that he was a father had left him numb. It felt like a crude joke. What he had shared with Magda felt like it could not lead to such a thing. It had been passionate but brief, and before he had introduced the question of marriage he had shown her his power and she had turned away in horror. He knew that in reality, all it had taken was a moment, and that was a moment they had indeed shared. It was only about genetic tissue - he had given them no paternal protection or parental love. He was their sire, not their father. 

‘Can you sense anything?’ Erik asked, stopping in his stride. 

‘No. The only people are in the village,’ Frost answered. 

‘So they’re near the village.’ He would not acknowledge the possibility that they might not be alive. 

‘Or in it,’ Frost added. Erik looked towards the village. In the snow, the houses seemed shrunken, like a giant child’s play-things left carelessly there. 

‘Take the main street,’ he said and pointed in that direction. ‘Mindscan the villagers. See if they’ve seen anything. If you sense the children, contact me at once.’ 

‘And if I sense their mother,’ Frost added. Erik scowled; leaving things unsaid with telepaths did not work. Besides, that was a reunion he would not look forward to. 

‘The children are our first priority,’ he said and turned away. Behind his back, he heard how Frost sighed and started trudging towards the village. Erik headed the other way. Frost could sort through the minds of the villagers. In the meantime, he could search the outskirts. 

There were plenty of places to look, but few of them were places where anyone could survive even a day. Azazel had said that the villagers were used to the cold. Were these children? Did they know how to avoid it, or would they fall prey for it? Fearing that they would not be as lucky as he had been the previous week, he searched every visible dip in the ground and every hollow tree. He plunged his arms into the deep snow and feared every time that he would feel bodies under his hands. He never did, and he pressed on. He opened up abandoned barns and outhouses. None of them were warmer inside than out, but thankfully, they were all empty. 

It took more than an hour before Erik found any sign. It was a small shed, where the snow had started to push in through the planks. The roof was badly maintained, and he could hear the wood holding it up creaking with the weight of the snow. The shed itself was empty but for a few barrels. Erik was about to leave - the roof was going to give way very soon, and he did not want to be under it when it did - but just as he was about to turn, one of the barrels caught his eye. The others were nailed shut, but not this one. Curious, he crossed to it and pushed away the lid. It was three-quarter full with dried winter apples. Erik peered behind it. Against the badly built wall was a small pile of apple cores. 

He stood frozen to the spot, staring at these remnants of a meal. Above him, the wood creaked. He shook himself and rushed out of the shed, his heart suddenly lighter in his chest. This must be them - they must be close by... 

Pushed on by this realisation, he looked around. _Think, you fool,_ he said to himself. _What would you do?_ He had been a child once - scared, frozen and hunted. Where would he have hid? The answer was evident. The perfect hiding-place was anywhere where others would not think of going. But where would people not go where someone could still survive in weather such as this? He looked around, hoping for a clue, when it suddenly caught his eye. 

‘No,’ he murmured to himself. ‘They can’t have...’ 

In the distance, there was a well. In this cold, the water would be frozen. No-one would go there for their water. He started walking - he quickened his step - he broke into a run. Just a few yards from his goal, there was a patch of ice. He almost lost his balance and skidded the last short distance. Grabbing at the well’s side, he steadied himself. Now he could see that the lid was only half-closed. In the gap between the wooden lid and the stone side, he could see a light, an eery blue which looked neither natural or electric. With little effort, Erik pushed aside the lid and looked down. 

The well was deep, but when he leaned over the opening, he could see the source of the blue light. Far down, huddled together in the narrow space, sat two shapes. They were wrapped in blankets, but from what he could see from their faces, he could tell that one was a girl and one a boy. The girl’s hands were cupped, and in them burned a small, blue fire. The boy held his hands up against it, rubbing warmth into it, but he had stopped mid-motion at the sight of the intruder. Even at this distance, Erik was very aware of how much the boy looked like him, with the same pale eyes and narrow face. The girl, however, was unmistakably Magda’s daughter, full-lipped and dark-eyed. He breathed out in relief. They were alive, and they were here. No harm would come to them. 

But as he looked down at them, he saw their eyes change with fear. The girl frowned up at him and shouted a command. The fire she was holding rushed suddenly out of her hands. Erik threw himself back, and only narrowly avoided it. 

‘I’m a friend! I want to help!’ he called in every language he knew. When he looked down into the well, he could tell that they had not understood his words, but his tone of voice must have conveyed his message - the girl did not try to fling any more witch-fire at him. It was easy to manipulate gravity within the enclosed space of the well to lift them up. The children clung to each other as they rose. They landed lightly in the snow, and Erik helped them to their feet. It was obvious now that they were weak, the boy more than the girl. With some difficulty, he lifted him up on his back; the child wrapped his arms around his neck to keep himself steady. Erik looped one arm around his leg to keep him up. The other he wrapped around the girl to shield her from view. As they started walking, the girl said something to him - a question, he thought - but he did not understand it. 

They slowly moved towards the dacha. In their dark coats and blankets, they stood out in the snowy landscape. They were conspicuous enough that if someone saw them, they would guess that something was wrong. Therefore, Erik hurried on. The boy on his back seemed half-asleep. The girl at his side stumbled along, trying to keep up. 

‘Come on, come on,’ he muttered, pushing her along. The dacha was ahead of them. Mystique, wearing her human face, appeared by the door and caught sight of him. 

‘Erik!’ she called and rushed towards him, as quickly as she could in the snow. As she approached, he saw how she watched the children in confusion. Before she had time to ask, he pushed the girl towards her. 

‘Take her inside,’ he said, giving her a look communicating that he would explain soon. She nodded and put an arm around her shoulders. She steered her towards the door, and Erik followed with the brother. ‘Is Azazel back yet?’ he asked as she prized open the door. She shook her head and stepped inside, pushing the girl in front of her. The sister took in her surroundings as Erik followed, letting down the boy. The door closed behind them. 

The girl turned suddenly and called out something - a command, or perhaps a spell. 

‘Mystique, watch out!’ Erik shouted. From the girl’s hands had sprung a ball of energy, which she flung against the people she thought were her captors. Mystique ducked, and the orb struck the door. The smell of scorched wood rose from the point of impact. Erik did not register that the boy had moved, but then suddenly he was at his sister’s side, going from a blur to a solid figure in the blink of an eye. Another ball of energy was forming in the girl’s palm. 

‘I want to help you,’ Erik said imploringly, turning his palms towards them in a show of peace. The rage in her face did not change, and the orb grew. She raised her hands, about to fling it their way. Erik prepared to make a shield to deflect it, but before he had time, Mystique stepped up suddenly. Her hair reddened and her face changed. Her humanity drained away, and what remained was all mutant. The orb went out between the girl’s hands. The drive to protect herself and her twin seemed to have been all that had kept her on her feet. Now her rage dwindled, and she seemed to shrink with it. Her brother said something, and at once they enfolded each other in an embrace. 

Mystique looked at Erik. 

‘Mutant children?’ He nodded. 

‘Charles was looking for them,’ he said and stepped up. ‘And so are the Red Army, if Frost is right. Mystique, start heating water for a bath.’ As she headed towards the kitchen, Erik coaxed the children into his room. There were some embers in the fireplace, and building up a fire did not take long. By now, he had realised that he was not able to communicate with them, and he suspected that they did not even speak Russian. Probably they only spoke Romani, but he only knew a few phrases in that, and none of them were useful in speaking to children. _His children,_ he reminded himself. As he took their coats and shoes from them and put them close to the fire to dry, he felt a sudden relief at their inability to communicate. It means that he did not have to explain. Equally, he could not ask them of their mother. Without a word he left them at the fire and sent Mystique to make them take off their tattered clothes and dry them, while he filled the bath-tub. 

It was almost full when he heard someone call from outside. Letting the bucket he had used for the water clatter to the floor, he entered the hallway. There, waiting for him, stood Azazel, looking drained. 

‘Well?’ he asked. He wanted to ask, _how is he? where did you take him? did he survive the journey?_ but he could not articulate any of those questions. Azazel had been in the service of others long enough to know how to deal with vague commands. 

‘I took him to Hannover. One jump, as you said.’ In any other situation, Erik would have been impressed. That was longer than he had known Azazel was capable of teleporting. 

‘And?’ 

‘I left him in a hospital. They must have found him at once when I left. I wasn’t seen.’ 

‘And how was he?’ Azazel shrugged, as if he did not really care. 

‘Alive.’ It was all the answer he could hope for, he knew. 

‘As good as it can be, under the circumstances,’ he said. ‘Rest. I have another task for you soon.’ Azazel stalked off, swinging his tail after him like an annoyed cat. Erik went the other way to where Mystique sat with the children. She was seated between them, while both twins watched them in rapt attention. Every second, she shape-shifted, so that her body constantly changed shape and colour. Watching them be so fascinated by her abilities made Erik oddly jealous. It had been through her mutant appearance their good intentions had been shown, not by a show of his power. He wished he had time to show it to them, and learn about their gifts. He knew that there was no way that could work. 

Strengthened by the impossibility of his wish, he stepped in. 

‘Mystique.’ She went blue again and looked over her shoulder at him. ‘The bath’s ready.’ She nodded and showed for the children to come with her. Obediently, they trotted after her, both dressed in what Erik thought was Angel’s jumpers. Just as he lost sight of them, he heard the door. 

‘Magneto!’ He entered the hallway again and saw Frost, annoyedly beating the snow off her coat. ‘You could have told me you’d found them.’ 

‘I assumed you knew,’ he said and forced a malicious grin. It did not feel convincing. Frost glanced upwards and shrugged. As she started putting her coat on a hanger, he explained: ‘We don’t have any shared languages. We can’t communicate.’ She cocked a well-shaped eyebrow at him. ‘Except you, of course,’ he added. Yet another reason why he wished Charles was at his side, he thought to himself. 

‘So I can answer all your questions for you,’ she added. ‘Their mother is dead.’ Frost’s disregard for tact did not make the blow harder. Somehow, he had already known. When she had not been with them, he had drawn his own conclusions. It made him more numb than grief-stricken. He had grieved for her when she had left him; as so much in his life, she had seemed to die as she grew more distant in time. 

‘How long since?’ She shrugged. 

‘They were young. Five, perhaps. The memories are vague.’ 

Erik looked for something to say to that, but before he had time, a sudden pain shot through his head. He winced and grabbed his forehead. It took a few seconds to will it away. Frost watching him the whole time, looking almost bored, as though she had expected it. 

‘What are their names?’ 

‘You didn’t ask them that?’ she asked, looking unimpressed. ‘It’s not a difficult mime, is it? After all this time of Riptide communicating just with gestures...’ 

‘Just answer me, Emma.’ She rolled her eyes at his demanding tone. 

‘Wanda and Pietro Maximoff.’ He nodded and started going towards his room. 

‘Tell someone to prepare some food for them, and to pack provisions,’ he told her over his shoulder, ‘and ask Riptide to try to explain that they’re going on a journey. Don’t enter their minds unless there’s no other way.’ Frost was not as gentle as Charles, and Erik thought that Riptide would be able to make a good enough charade to explain such a message. Before she had time to object, he closed the door, at least a symbolic way of keeping the world out. He considered putting on his helmet, but the metal was so cold that he did not dare. Instead, he sat down bare-headed at the small writing-desk and found some string and a few sheets of notepaper left by the owners. On the first sheet, he wrote a short message:

> Charles risked his life to save these two children.   
> Please take care of them. Charles is in hospital in   
> Hannover, West Germany.   
> M 

He folded the sheet and put it in an envelope. As he sealed it, another bolt of pain shot through his head. He put down the envelope and waited for the sensation to subside. It took longer than last time, but finally it was gone. Taking two sheets of notepaper, Erik folded them both in half and made a hole in one of the corners, through which he tied the string. On one tag, he wrote _Wanda Maximoff_ , on the other, _Pietro Maximoff_. He put no other description, not even their year of birth. He wanted nothing to identify his children other than their names. 

He lingered at the desk, listening to the bustle in other parts of the house. He should rise and make sure that Azazel left with the children. The longer they stayed, the greater the risk that they would be found. There was no guarantee that no-one had seen them, or for that matter that the soldiers had some way of tracking them. For all he knew, they might have a telepath. But then again, Azazel had looked exhausted, and he could not risk losing him. He was after all their transportation. But there was still the question of the safety of his children, which were soon to become Charles’ children, if he lived. _Charles might be dead at this moment and I wouldn’t know..._

Erik got to his feet quickly. He needed to flee from these thoughts. Better to act now, and keep that possibility from his mind a little longer. He had accepted the news that Magda was long-since dead with a numbed calm, but the mere thought of Charles’ life being in danger made him want to tear the world apart. The helplessness made him feel like a child again, with no power over the destiny of those he loved. Perhaps he could leave his worry at the desk. Bringing the letter and the tags with him, he went to retrieved the twins’ clothes, and then headed upstairs. Halfway up the stairs, the pain struck again. It made him stop and stand very still, grabbing the banister to keep himself from falling. It felt like the headaches he had had before, but now it was worse. Perhaps it was just agitation, or perhaps Charles had ruptured something in his mind when removing the memories. 

‘Erik?’ Mystique was at the top of the stairs, looking at him worriedly. ‘Is something the matter?’ 

‘No,’ he said, trying to ignore the pain. When he climbed the rest of the stairs, the ascent took more effort than it should have. ‘How are they?’ 

‘In the bath,’ she said and jerked her head and gestured down towards the kitchen. ‘Both of them. They don’t seem to want to let go of each other.’ 

Erik could understand that. After being driven from their home, the prospect of losing each other seemed all the more threatening. Instead of saying anything about this, he handed her the clothes. 

‘Tell them to dress, and have them eat something.’ 

‘Sure,’ she said and gave him a nod. Just as they passed each other, she gave him a smile which was half-sorrowful and half-encouraging. He could not find it in himself to answer it. Instead, he headed towards Azazel’s door and knocked on it. There was a grumble from inside. 

‘Get ready, and go downstairs,’ he called through the door. Without waiting for him to respond, he turned back to the stairs. Just as he was about to step down onto the first step, the pain struck anew, now so vicious that it almost made his knees buckle. He held himself upright against the banister, aware of the stairs ahead of him and what might happen if he lost his balance. When the pain subsided enough for him to open his eyes again, the first thing he saw was so vividly white that at first he had trouble making it out. Then his vision shifted into focus, and he saw Frost’s knowing eyes on him. 

‘What’s wrong with me?’ he asked without letting go of the banister. 

‘It’s all Xavier’s fault,’ she said casually. 

‘How...? Did he... damage me?’ Frost smiled, as if she found it entertaining. 

‘In a manner of speaking. Your mind is trying to reach memories that are no longer there. They’re not even blocked - there is a blank there. Your conscious knows more or less what was taken, but it is not there, and as you cannot remember losing it, it was never there. The struggle is what is causing you pain.’ Erik took a steadying breath. 

‘But it’ll subside?’ 

‘I hope so,’ she said, not looking really as if she cared either way. ‘A contest for the leadership of the Brotherhood would be so tedious.’ 

Before he had time to ask her what she meant by that, a door behind them opened and Azazel stepped out. Deciding to cut his unwilling tête-à-tête with Frost short, he nodded to the teleporter. 

‘Come with me, both of you.’ 

They went downstairs, Erik doing his best not to give away how unsteady he felt. The rest of the Brotherhood were gathered in the kitchen. Riptide was busy gesturing at the children, who were nodding as they munched on a piece of bread each. When Erik stepped in, he stopped his silent communication and stood to attention. After feeling disempowered for so long, sensing that he was feared was gratifying. However, he had wished that his children had not been among those who feared them. 

It was Angel who broke the silence. 

‘So, these kids...’ 

‘They’re mutants,’ Erik explained and crossed to them. The children watched him guardedly, but they did not flinch away when he tied the tags with their names to their coats. He showed the envelope to them and then put it in Wanda’s front pocket. Briefly, he kept his hand on it. When he returned it, she put her hand on the pocket and said something. Even if he did not understand, he was sure that it was a promise to keep the letter safe. He smiled at her and rose. 

‘Azazel, you need to take these children to Westchester, New York, to Xavier’s mansion.’ 

Azazel stared at him as if he had told him to teleport them to the moon. 

‘But Magneto...’ 

‘Do it in stages,’ he told him. ‘There are provisions for you. But do it as quickly as is possible. People will be looking for them.’ Azazel, knowing that he could not argue, merely sighed. 

‘When?’ 

Erik turned his gaze from the teleporter to the children. 

‘Now.’ 

He heard how Azazel muttered under his breath and gathered the provisions that the others had prepared. Still he did not look away from the children. How to say goodbye? There were no words which would work. But there was no time to hesitate. Erik leaned down and planted a kiss on Wanda’s brow, then one on Pietro’s. As he drew away, the children watched him, Wanda wonderingly and Pietro untrustingly. Azazel stepped up and offered them his hands. _My children,_ Erik thought. _Will I see them again...?_ They took hold around his fingers, and he pulled them to their feet. _Will someone take care of them?_ Pietro looked at him with eyes the same pale blue as his. He opened his mouth to speak, and then, in a flurry of red smoke, they were gone. 

Erik wanted to protest and call them back. What had he been about to say - perhaps they had been able to understand each other, by some miracle... The pain was back, and made him sway. Mystique grabbed his arm to steady him, but when she spoke, he could not hear her words. The pain was beating against his ear-drums, deafening him. It was offering oblivion. What a welcome state! He let go of the sorrow and the worry and finally his consciousness.


	4. Chapter 4

The first thing Erik knew was the sunlight. When he opened his eyes, he saw that it was streaming in through the window, warm and golden, with none of the silver cold the snow brought with it. Looking around the room, he realised that this was not the dacha. Both the style and the warmth made him sure that he was no longer in Russia. Slowly, he got out of bed. He was stiff, as if he had been asleep a long time, but his head felt clear, the pain completely gone. The small street his window overlooked made him think they were somewhere in Southern Europe. As he had thought, there was no snow. After all that time in the snowy village, it looked strange to see the streets bare. The warm light was welcome, though, and now he closed his eyes and turned his head towards it. 

He stayed there for a long time, and it was like that Mystique found him some time later when she entered. 

‘Erik?’ He turned around, towards her voice. Lights danced in front of his eyes, but he could make her out, once again nude. 

‘Where are we?’ he asked. The calm in his voice surprised him. 

‘Rome,’ she said and crossed to him. She sat down cross-legged on the unmade bed. ‘How are you feeling?’ He had to stop and think about it. The last things he remembered feeling were so dark, but now his sorrows seemed lifted. 

‘Strange,’ he said finally. ‘But better. How long have I been asleep?’ 

‘Almost a week,’ she said, and when she said that, he noticed her relief at seeing him awake. ‘Emma said your mind was healing itself, but... it scared me.’ 

‘I think it is healed,’ he said and sat down beside her. Her hand covered his. He turned his hand palm-up and pressed hers. ‘Did she tell you from what?’ Mystique shook her head. 

‘I tried to make her tell - I even threatened her - but she wouldn’t say.’ Erik chuckled. He never thought Frost would be the one to safeguard his secrets. Perhaps he had a better ally in her than he had thought. 

‘Charles garbled my mind,’ he said simply. ‘It needed... rebalancing.’ 

‘Oh.’ She looked worried suddenly. Erik wondered if the reason was what he feared it might be.’ 

‘Have you heard anything about him?’ She shook her head. 

‘He’s not in Germany anymore, but only that.’ 

‘The others took him back to America, then?’ 

‘Yes, I guess so.’ There seemed not to be more to say, because Mystique leaned her head against his shoulder. He untangled their hands and put an arm around her. They remained in that position for a long time, reluctant to let go.

***

The next few weeks seemed to pass more easily than time had before. The discord he had felt before was gone, and with it, the struggle to try to piece together his memories. He had come to accept the hole in his recollections, and no longer tried to fill it with things that did not belong there. The false memory Charles had planted there felt distant and odd, and every day it seemed more like a dream. As Erik walked around Rome, roving from one ruin to another, reading the inscriptions off the stones and circling the columns, this fact was what haunted him. That walk had never happened, and the recollections it of had been thrust into his brain against his wishes, but he had wanted it to be true. Now, it was slowly fading into nothingness, dissolved by his knowledge of its untruth. Consequently, Erik was forgetting the one kiss he had ever shared with Charles. It might have been fabricated and placed in his mind, but it was all he had. Considering that Charles had formed that memory to fill the hole in his head, he must have somehow wanted it, or at least not been repulsed by Erik’s wanting it, and whatever chance they had now may have been squandered... 

A fortnight after waking up, standing on Piazza di Spagna, Erik decided he had had enough. Now, he could barely recall how the snow had felt against his face, or how Charles’ cheek had felt under his fingers, or how their lips had pressed together. It had never happened, and for all he knew, it would never happen. He could not stand not knowing any longer - he would not. He turned away from the double stairs and the flower-sellers and the fountain in the shape of a sinking boat, where his wanderings had taken him so often. Now he could not wait to leave it. It was a long way to their flat in Trastevere across the river, so he set of at a run. He pushed through the crowds and dodge street-sellers on the way, his coat flapping after him. When he finally reached the flat, he rushed upstairs without slowing his step and headed towards his room. There, he let his coat and hat fall to the floor and started stripping off the disguise in which he could pass as human. Instead, he donned his tunic and his cloak, and finally the helmet. 

Azazel was next-door, slumped in an armchair while juggling a ball between his tail and two hands. The sound of Magneto’s footsteps made him glance up, and at the sight of him, he jumped to his feet, boredom replaced by shock. 

‘Magneto?’ he said guardedly. 

‘I want you to take me to the Xavier mansion, Azazel.’ He consciously did not phrase it as an order, and that was perhaps why the teleporter let his disproval show. Curling his lip as if in disgust, he looked him up and down. 

‘Why are you so obsessed with the cripple, comrade? He is our enemy.’ 

‘Humankind is our enemy. Not Charles.’ Azazel bared his teeth. 

‘He twisted your mind, Magneto. He must have. Frost says you are recovered, but you cannot be. You have lost your senses.’ 

Despite himself, Erik smiled. 

‘That happened a long time ago,’ he assured him. When it came to Charles, he had lost his senses the moment he had pulled him out of the water. He extended his hand towards the teleporter. Azazel sneered. 

‘Fool,’ he told him, and took his hand. 

A swirl of red enfolded them, and time seemed to stall. Once, twice, thrice they materialised, but they did not stay for long enough for Erik to notice his surroundings. It was like slamming against the world, only to disappear again, turning into fast-moving liquid which could traverse reality itself. Then, suddenly, there was solid ground beneath their feet and a real sky over them. Even as Erik fell to his knees and tried not to be sick, he saw the mansion ahead. 

‘If you want to go in there, you will have to do it on your own,’ Azazel told him. ‘I’ll wait for an hour, in the woods.’ 

‘And if I’m not back by then?’ Erik asked, finally curbing the nausea and getting to his feet. 

‘I’ll assume that they’ve killed you, and leave,’ he told him. 

‘An hour is all I need,’ Erik told him. Azazel gave him a measured look, and then he was gone. A puff of red smoke appeared at the edge of the forest, and was spread by the wind. Erik turned back to the mansion and rearranged his cloak, hoping to regain some of his dignity by it. Then he reached up and removed his helmet. 

The sensation of metal against his head was replaced by something else. At first it was only a tingle or a touch, indistinct at best. Then it grew into a whisper. 

_Erik. Erik. Erik._

‘Charles?’ he said out loud, his heart leaping. He did not answer him. All he could hear was that psychic voice called to him, but it was enough. The helmet tucked under his arm, he walked towards the building. The grounds seemed deserted, which was not so odd considering the cold, although after Russia, it did not feel so bad. He reached the gravel path and walked along the mansion. There were movements from inside, but he could not make out more than shapes. Finally, he reached the door. Now, he hesitated. 

_Erik._

‘What if they see me?’ he said into thin air. 

_They won’t. Come to me._

There was little else to do than to trust him. Erik opened the door, stepped in and closed it carefully behind him. Then he turned around, and found himself facing Alex. 

Not knowing what to do or say, he opened his mouth and closed it again. Something, he suddenly realised, was wrong. In fact, Alex was not looking at him. Instead, he was looking through him. Charles had said that they would not see him. Apparently he had meant it literally. 

Slowly, Erik edged sideways and maneuvered around him, careful not to touch him. Quickening his step, he headed towards the stairs, but noise from one of the rooms made him halt. The door was open and let out the happy cries of children. He took a few steps towards it to see better. There was a dozen of them sitting on the floor in a half-circle. Sean was there too, laughing as hard as they were. In front of them stood Hank, in the middle of a game of charades. 

‘Deer!’ 

‘Goat!’ 

‘Demon - or devil!’ 

‘Cow!’ called the children, trying to guess. Hank grinned and shook his hands at them to show that they were all wrong. As they continued to try to guess, Erik watched the children: a ginger girl, a boy with red irises, a mousy girl with differently coloured eyes, a boy wearing a heavy visor... Among them sat Wanda and Pietro. They were also shouting suggestions, although in Romani. Even if not knowing the language must isolate them, they seemed surprisingly happy. They were young, and they would learn, and until then, they had each other. Where he stood, invisible to them all, Erik felt a sudden envy at what they shared. Not wanting to stretch his luck, he turned away and headed towards the stairs. 

As he ascended, he felt the presence inside his head growing stronger. He followed it through familiar corridors until he reached the door of the room where it came from. The voice in his head was so close it seemed to fill his mind up. Slowed by apprehension, his hand went to the handle. No, there was no reason to put this off. He pushed it down and opened the door. 

The presence in his head disappeared. Instead: 

‘Hello, Erik.’ 

The morning sun, brighter than it had been inside, filtered through the window and illuminated the room. The bed with its starched sheets seemed an apparition of whiteness. Propped up against the bed-board leaned Charles, serene eyes watching him. There was something about the way he lay which bore witness of his illness. He was still pale, and the skin under his eyes were dark, but the pallor was not deathly as it had been before. Half-way to the bed, Erik stopped. 

‘Hello,’ he responded. Charles smiled at him. 

‘I’m glad to see you again,’ Gesturing towards a chair by the bedside, he said: ‘Come closer.’ 

Tentatively, Erik approached. He left the helmet on the bedside table; beside the pile of books and jars of medicine there, it looked absurd, an intrusion into the sickroom. Instead of sitting down in the chair, he swept the cloak aside and sat down on the bedside. Charles raised an entertained eyebrow at him; he must have known that he was going to do that. The way his eyes gleamed twisted Erik’s heart. Only a few minutes ago, he had not even known if he was alive or not, and now he was sitting facing him. Charles’ smile faded. Erik still watched him. It took him longer than he had wanted to form words. When he finally spoke, it felt like a feeble attempt. 

‘How are you?’ 

‘Recovering,’ Charles answered lightly. He mustered another smile, even if Erik thought that this was probably a mask he had fashioned to calm the boys’ worries. ‘I’m much better, in fact. The thrombosis was easy enough to deal with in the hospital. The pneumonia was worse, but it went the right way.’ Erik looked at him where he lay. ‘Yes, I know,’ Charles said with a helpless shrug. ‘I’m still on bed rest. Hank’s very insistent. At least my powers make it possible for me to traverse the mansion, in my own way.’ For a moment, Erik glimpsed the frustration he felt at being stuck in his own room. He also wondered whether Charles was understating his own ill-health, unwilling to admit that he was still unwell. 

If he read any of these thoughts, he did not comment on it. Instead, he reached out a hand, bandaged from wrist to finger-tip. Erik’s first impulse was to take it, but then Charels said: 

‘Here, let me see your hands.’ 

Erik presented them palm-down, as though for a teacher who doubted that they had been washed. Charles ran his fingers over them, looking thoughtful. 

‘The frostbite has almost healed,’ he observed. ‘How do it feel?’ 

‘A bit numb, but it doesn’t hurt.’ Once again, Charles smiled. 

‘I’m glad to hear it.’ Erik hesitated to ask. 

‘What about yours?’ 

‘Oh, it’s on the mend,’ he said. ‘Hank’s fairly certain now that there’s no risk of gangrene. Lucky, really.’ He looked away, embarrassment hiding his fear. ‘Tissue doesn’t heal properly below my injury, so it would be impossible to amputate there. That means that had the frostbite on my feet gone gangrenous... well, there’d be nothing to do about it.’ He let the outcome of that remain unsaid. ‘Also, I’m keen to keep all my fingers.’ 

‘So you’ll recover completely?’ Erik asked. The thought that he might answer no made his chest hurt. But Charles nodded. 

‘Given time,’ he said. ‘Give me another month.’ The smile he gave him was a little bitter. 

‘I’m glad,’ Erik managed. 

‘Oh, me too,’ he said, hiding his bitterness again. ‘Besides, I’m not completely useless even like this. I’m teaching.’ 

At that, Erik had to laugh. 

‘You were almost dying three weeks ago,’ he said. ‘Shouldn’t you rest?’ 

‘Well, I have two new fascinating students,’ Charles said, and now he looked proud. ‘Thanks to you. They’re still learning English, so I’m the only one who can really communicate with them completely.’ Erik looked away. 

‘They were what all this was about, wasn’t it?’ he asked. 

‘Yes,’ Charles said. ‘I’m just sorry it went like this.’ Erik looked back at him, meeting his eyes. 

‘Emma Frost told me that you had replaced my memories. That was why nothing made sense when I woke up.’ 

‘Yes,’ he said with a sigh. ‘She was right.’ 

‘But why?’ 

‘To protect you,’ Charles answered sincerely. ‘And to protect them. I’m afraid it was hastily done. It must have hurt.’ 

‘Yes,’ Erik said. ‘It did.’ 

‘I’m sorry,’ the telepath said and rubbed his brow. They sat in awkward silence for a moment. Then Erik picked up his courage. 

‘The false memory...’ Charles swallowed audibly. 

‘I hoped it would make the loss of the other memories less painful,’ he explained. ‘Those memories created a gap in your mind. I had to fill it with something, however improvised.’ He looked away and fiddled with his blanket for a moment. Then, still not looking at him, asked: ‘Would you like to see what I took?’ 

‘It’ll explain the things I don’t know?’ Charles nodded. ‘Then yes.’ 

‘Good,’ he said. ‘I had hoped that. It’s been weighing on my mind.’ He smoothed the blanket just beside him and said: ‘Come closer.’ Erik shifted closer and Charles raised a hand. Carefully, he put his fingers against his forehead. Erik flinched involuntarily. ‘Don’t fight it,’ Charles said, or perhaps thought, kindly. ‘Just let me show you.’ 

The world melted around them. 

_He was pulled out of his sleep. At first, he did not know what had woken him. Was it the Paris traffic outside, or some nightmare which he had already forgotten? But no, it was neither. There was something in his head. His first thought was of Frost. The helmet was on the bedside table. Still half-asleep, he reached for it, but mid-motion he stopped, not of his own volition._

Don’t shut me out, Erik. 

_His motor functions were released and his outstretched arms fell. He could not believe it - he must still be asleep - that voice..._

_‘Charles?’ he said, as if expecting to find him there, in his bedroom._

Erik, I need your help. 

_‘What?’_

Please, _the voice said._ I have found something, something very valuable. I need to retrieve it. Will you help me? 

_‘Why?’ he asked. Charles, if this indeed was Charles, had his boys to run his errands. Had he not been newly awake, he would have pointed that out._

Because you will understand how important it is. 

_‘What is it?’_

A pair of mutant twins. 

_Erik started._

_‘Twins?’ he said._

It’s unprecedented, Erik. They manifested only yesterday. 

_‘I still don’t see how I can help.’_

There are places the X-Men can’t go, or even won’t, the voice explained. The twins live deep inside the Soviet Union. There is no way we could get in. But you... 

_Erik rubbed his head. This was ridiculous. He was just about to say that, but of course Charles had beaten him to it._

There’s more, _he said._ In their minds... they’re early memories, vague, but... 

_Slowly, like invisible ink appearing under heat, a picture formed inside his head. He knew those features - the full mouth, the curly hair, the faint scar on her upper lip._

_‘Magda?’ he whispered._

She is their mother, Erik. These are her children. 

_Even in the well-heated hotel, he felt himself grow cold._

_‘And...?’_

They’re mutants. Their father must have been one too. 

_For a moment, it felt like he had forgotten how to breathe. It could not be possible... But Charles gave him no time to meet his own confusion._

You must help me get them out, _he urged him_ For all we know, the Soviets have found some way of finding mutants. If they find them first, we will stand no chance. This is what you need to know. _And suddenly, Erik felt his head fill with maps, place names and faces. Then, as quickly as it had come, the presence in his head receded._

_‘Charles!’ he called, leaping from bed. ‘Charles, don’t go, damn you! CHARLES!’_

_Suddenly, the sound of feet outside his door. It was forced open, and there, crowding into the doorway was Mystique and Riptide and Angel. Emma Frost and Azazel watched over their heads, looking much more bored than the others. Still, they all watched their leader with curiosity where he stood, bare chest heaving and eyes scanning the room wildly._

_‘What’s the matter?’ Mystique asked and stepped inside. Erik drew a deep breath, trying to pull himself together._

_‘We’re leaving,’ he said, and that was all the explanation he would give._

_The last day in Paris was a flurry of activity. While the others went shopping for furs, he brought Mystique to a tailors’ and found a fabric the same colour as her skin - she let her hand transform into its usual shape when the assistant was not watching. He paid them to have it done within a few hours. They still ended up waiting for it to be done. Finally she slipped into the dress, uncomfortably warm in their heated rooms. The Brotherhood joined hands and the dimension Azazel teleported through enveloped them and then spat them out. The snow had just started falling in earnest when they arrived. The dacha, in its capacity of summer house, stood empty and boarded up. It was easy enough to break in and make it their base. The village was distant enough that the people there would not notice._

_The first day they still had running water. Then the pipes froze and they had to rely on a well a little while away. After a few days that froze too, and they started taking in snow and boiling it. The thin outer walls of the dacha let in the cold. Soon, it was cold enough that water would freeze if left too long. Everyone’s mood was foul. The Brotherhood wanted an explanation, and Erik would not give them one, partly because he could not bear to divulge what he had learned, partly because he knew very little himself. The first few nights, Mystique and he had slept in the same bed for the sake of warmth - they were close enough to do such a thing - but when he still would not answer her questions, she moved. Erik was not certain if she had found another room, or if she had picked a new bedmate. The days went past slowly, and with no information at hand, Erik took to pacing up and down his room, taking his helmet on and off, hoping for another communication from Charles but not wanting to let Frost into his head._

_They had been there almost a week when something finally happened. Erik was pacing, wearing both cloak and helmet, when the door suddenly opened. He assumed that it was Mystique - only she would not bother to knock - but when he swirled around, it was Azazel who stood in the doorway._

_‘What the hell are you doing here?’ he snapped and took a menacing step towards him. Azazel flung his hands up to show that he meant no harm. Erik stopped in his stride. There was something wrong with this placating gesture. When he looked closer, he thought that Azazel’s face looked odd too. It was not set in its usual lopsided smirk, but the eyes seemed softer and the mouth more relaxed. The demonic mutant opened his mouth, and the sounds that came out were in Azazel’s voice, but not his accent._

_‘Erik.’ He stared. Those two syllables bore none of the marks of his Russian mother-tongue. When he continued, he spoke in a crisp British accent. ‘I’ve found them. We need to hurry. Come with me.’ Azazel reached his hand out. The movements were a little jerky, as if the command was not travelling down the nerves properly._

_‘Charles?’ Erik asked under his breath. Azazel smiled Charles’ smile._

_‘Yes. He’ll take you to me.’ Erik took the teleporter’s hand, and they dissolved._

_The jump was not far at all, because he was barely aware of teleporting before they materialised. They were outside, in the clearing of a forest, and in front of them sat Charles, smiling at him._

_‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘He won’t remember any of this.’ Erik looked towards Azazel, and saw how his eyes had gone glassy. The next moment, he disappeared in a cloud of red mist. Gaping, Erik looked back at him. He did not now what question to ask first._

_‘How did you get here?’ he settled for finally._

_‘Your friend Azazel helped me,’ Charles explained. ‘Unknowingly, of course. I’ve come across some information, and I needed to come see you at once. It felt easiest to simply make Azazel come fetch me. It’s a rough way to travel. At least he could teleport with the chair too.’ Erik looked around._

_‘Why here?’ Now, Charles looked embarrassed._

_‘It seems like my ability to control his powers is a little hit and miss. I had meant to end up inside your room.’ Erik snorted with laughter. He was too tense to submit to humour completely. It was not only because of what news Charles might bring, but also simply seeing him. It was years ago, but they had not made him any less handsome. However, now when he thought about it, he realised that he looked very cold, sitting there in only his suit._

_‘You should take my cloak,’ he said and stretched up to unfasten it._

_‘No no, no need,’ Charles said, waving a hand. ‘I’m alright. Although, if you’d oblige me, won’t you take off that horrid helmet?’ Erik hesitated. Charles smiled. ‘Don’t you trust me, Erik?’_

_‘Yes, I do.’_

_‘Then, please. Not being able to sense your mind being there... it feels like you’re dead.’ Erik took off his helmet. Charles smiled, as if what he felt gave him pleasure. ‘Thank you.’ They looked at each other, waiting for the other to speak._

_‘It’s strange, seeing you again,’ Erik admitted._

_‘I’m glad to see you, though,’ Charles answered. Briefly, he smiled, but then it faded. ‘I’m afraid that this is business, though. Erik, the children - your children...’ Erik snorted._

_‘You must think me a fool because of that.’ He had expected Charles to agree, but when he looked at him, his eyes looked very honest._

_‘How could I possibly do that?’ he asked. ‘You were lonely. You fell in love. You never intended there to be consequences. You could not know that she was going to be so horrified by you. And I’m very sorry for that.’_

_‘The only human I have not been able to hate for reacting like that,’ Erik sighed. The smile he received was encouraging, as if this was an example to build on. Discussing old loves with Charles was disturbing, for some reason, so instead he asked: ‘Where are the children?’_

_‘Just east of these woods,’ Charles said, pointing in that direction. ‘There is a small community there. The others are wary - they don’t know how to deal with the children’s powers. So if you and I...’ He fell silent all of a sudden. He looked almost like he was listening, and what he was bearing witness to made his jaw tighten. ‘There’s something else,’ he said, still half concentrated on what he was sensing. When he spoke again, his voice was tinged with panic. ‘Erik, there are soldiers. They’re there for the children...’_

_‘Now?’ Erik said urgently._

_‘Yes,’ Charles said and touched his forehead. ‘They’re approaching... they’re going to attack...’ He looked up suddenly, eyes wide with alarm. ‘No, wait! Erik! In the forest!’_

_Erik whirled around. There was something moving among the trees. He took a step towards them, and as if that was the cue they had been waiting for, the shapes broke free. Soldiers, a dozen or more, rushing towards them. Erik stepped between them and Charles. The officer called out something - an order not to kill, and what Erik thought was the word for prisoner. Moving forward, Erik took the helmet between his hands and lifted it to put it on - he needed his arms free if he had to fight._

_‘Erik!’ Just as he slipped the helmet on, something happened. Some force inside him knocked him off his feet and held him down. Around him, there was still movement. He saw how one of the soldiers knocked Charles out of his chair and then stopped suddenly. All the men froze. They became like tin soldiers, stiff and lifeless. Then, as if there was no-one else there, they turned and walked back the way they had come from._

_Silence fell. Erik lay on his back, unable to move. His surroundings were a blur. He did not know where he was or why he was there. For now, he was almost uncertain of who he himself was. The only thing he knew was the panting breath a little while away._

_‘I’m so sorry, Erik,’ a voice whispered. ‘You’re going to be fine, I promise. You’re going to lose consciousness for a while - that’s just your mind trying to process it. I’m sorry...’ The voice seemed to be growing more distant. Erik did not know whether it was moving, or whether he was losing consciousness. Before he could find out, his senses clouded, as the void inside his head screamed and the memory of the walk in the snow settled just behind his eyes._

The memory ended. Charles’ hand fell from Erik’s forehead, releasing him. He turned away, catching his breath. Gratitude and anger and confusion made his head spin. 

‘You thought I’d talk,’ he said finally. ‘That was why you took my memories, wasn’t it? They were going to take us prisoners and interrogate us, and you thought...’ 

‘I couldn’t take the chance,’ Charles said regretfully. ‘I couldn’t know how desperate their superiors were to get the information - to what means they might have resorted? I didn’t want you to be put through that pain, and I didn’t want you to be the one to give them information on your own children, and your own followers.’ 

‘So you made me useless to them.’ 

‘I can shield my mind well enough that nothing can get in,’ Charles said, sounding a little annoyed now. ‘You can’t. What if they had a telepath, or some other way of reading thoughts? How could I know whether you would have been strong enough to fight it or not?’ He broke off. When he spoke again, he sounded calmer. ‘I wish I didn’t have to do it, but I saw no other way.’ 

Erik sighed. 

‘I know that.’ He had had plenty of time to be angry at Charles. It had never felt very sincere, even if it had certainly been there. Besides, if they wanted to start blaming each other, Charles had things he could easily bring up. Letting the subject go, Erik asked instead: ‘What happened after I passed out? When I woke up, you weren’t right next to me.’ Charles smoothed his blanket over his legs, looking a little embarrassed. 

‘I don’t think I was thinking straight,’ he admitted. ‘I tried to get closer to the village, so I dragged myself in that direction. Changing your memories and controlling those soldiers, especially so shortly after coercing Azazel through Cerebro to bring me halfway around the globe, had drained me. Finally, I couldn’t move any more. After that, I don’t really remember much.’ 

‘I tried to take you back with me,’ Erik said. ‘In the end, the Brotherhood saved us both.’ Charles looked him in the eye and smiled. 

‘I’m grateful for that.’ They looked at each other, until Charles turned away his gaze. ‘Well. That’s that, I suppose. You’re well. The children are safe. I’m on the mend. Not that there were not... casualties. Your memories. Those poor people’s home. The children, having to hide like that. Perhaps even you having to abuse the trust of your Brotherhood. But in the end.. it turned out as well as it possibly could.’ Erik nodded, but realised he was not listening. His mind was on the last part of the returned memory. 

‘Of all the things you could have made a false memory about, why that one?’ he asked, looking up at Charles. He held his gaze, but his pale cheeks went a little pink. 

‘It was the first thing that popped into my head,’ he explained. ‘I was thinking.... the snow was so beautiful, and I had not seen you for so long. What I really, truly wanted to do was to walk with you through that snow, and...’ He trailed off. 

‘Have me kiss you,’ Erik filled in. Charles nodded, tight-lipped. ‘So you knew?’ 

‘I know everything about you, Erik,’ Charles reminded him kindly. ‘Including how you feel about me.’ Erik tried to find something to say to that. Finally, he sighed in frustration. 

‘Then why did you never do anything about it?’ 

Charles covered his hand with his own, and looked him in the eye. 

‘Perhaps this was the only way I dared to.’ Erik looked at him, not knowing what to say. It had been presumptuous and immoral and cowardly...

And yet, Erik leaned in and kissed him. 

Charles must have known that he was going to, but he still gave a surprised hiccup, before composing himself. Erik felt his bandaged hand resting against his neck. The kiss went from awkward to sincere. He did not break it until he started feeling breathless. Now, he saw that there were tears in Charles’ eyes. 

‘Don’t cry,’ he said quietly and touched his cheek. 

‘I’m not,’ Charles said, swallowing. ‘I’m just happy. And...’ He looked away for a moment, then back at him. ‘...and angry.’ 

‘Angry?’ 

‘At myself,’ he said. ‘At both of us. We should have admitted to this years ago.’ 

‘But we’re doing it _now_ ,’ Erik said and leaned closer. They kissed again, a little deeper now. The tips of their tongues met experimentally before they withdrew. For some reason, Charles did not seem happy at their seizing of the moment. ‘Charles, you said yourself that it was going to be alright. You’re going to recover...’ 

Charles smiled melancholically. 

‘Will you join us?’ he asked. The question was only half rhetorical. ‘Will you give up the violence, and the preemptive action, and the sabotage, and the bloodshed...’ 

‘Charles...’ Erik said, trying to object. Charles shook his head ruefully at his interruption. 

‘It’s not going to happen, any more than it is going to snow in July,’ he said. ‘I’ve known that for a long time now.’ He touched his cheek with such tenderness that Erik thought it might break him. 

‘What are you saying?’ he asked, not even caring how hoarse his voice sounded. ‘That I’ll never see you again?’ Charles shook his head. 

‘Of course you’ll see me again,’ he said. ‘As often as you want. But you and I... we are two sides of a coin. We need each other, and we are always connected, but we will never agree.’ Erik straightened up, looking at him in confusion. 

‘So this is how we will meet?’ he asked, gesturing between them. ‘Stolen moments when you make the others think you’re on your own?’ 

‘What else is there, my friend?’ Charles said. He reached out, his hand against Erik’s neck again, and guided him closer. Erik let him, until their foreheads rested together. 

‘And when this war is over...?’ Charles laughed softly, but bitterly.

‘There is no war, Erik,’ he said. ‘The only war there is is in here.’ He spread his hand over Erik’s heart. 

‘Why don’t you change it?’ Erik asked, struck suddenly by the idea. At Charles’ innocent glance, he explained: ‘You could do it easily. All you’d have to do was think, and you could change me. Like this... I’m at your mercy.’ Charles pressed his lips against his cheek. That light kiss felt like some kind of contract. 

‘I couldn’t,’ he whispered. ‘It would be killing you, and I love you like this.’ 

‘Like this?’ Erik laughed, tears stinging his eyes. ‘How could you? When you have the power to recreate me...’ 

‘In my own image? No. It wouldn’t be you anymore. I don’t want a weak carbon-copy, with all the bad things blotted out.’ 

‘But you refuse to have me,’ Erik concluded. Now, Charles leaned back and smiled. 

‘Oh, Erik,’ he whispered. ‘I’ll always have you. When all else is uncertain, that is one truth which will never change.’ 

Erik looked at him at length. 

‘Yes,’ he admitted finally. ‘You’re right.’ 

Charles nodded slowly, glad that he agreed but not surprised. His eyes had almost drifted shut, and he was sinking into his pillows, a hand on his chest. 

‘Is there anything I can do?’ Erik asked. 

‘I’m just tired,’ Charles said and smiled. 

‘I should leave you to rest...’ The smile grew a little. 

‘Must you?’ he asked. 

‘You need to sleep,’ Erik told him. 

‘Then stay until I fall asleep,’ he said. ‘You can leave the way you came in. No-one will realise you’re here, I promise.’ He reached a hand towards him. ‘Humour me,’ he said. ‘How often will I get the chance to fall asleep with you here?’ Erik grinned, despite himself. 

‘If I get to have a say in things, you mean?’ Charles smiled. 

‘There is plenty of time.’ 

Erik nodded and said: 

‘I’ll stay.’ 

Turning away from Charles to take his shoes off and unfasten his cloak felt like something he had to use all his will-power to do. Then, careful not to accidentally squash Charles’ legs, he stretched out alongside him on top of the covers. When he lay down his head beside his, Charles turned to look at him, eyelids growing heavy. 

‘You’ll come back soon?’ 

‘Of course,’ Erik said and kissed him goodnight. He did not know when he could next abandon his duties to the Brotherhood like this, or even how he would get here. Still, it was difficult to worry about such worldly things while watching Charles fall asleep only inches from him. The way his face slowly relaxed and his breathing deepened chased away even the knowledge that as soon as he had drifted off, Erik had to leave him there. Charles was right. In so many ways (too many ways), they were worlds apart. However, some things were not bound by any realms. Beyond their conflicts and their wars, deep under their masks and personas, they alone existed, and this was a meeting of souls. Even if all they could share was a moment here and a moment there, it would be enough. It had to be. _Until this war ends,_ Erik thought to himself, as Charles fell asleep beside him. _Until this war ends..._


End file.
